


pictures of home

by felixfraldarius



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bad Fraldarius coping mechanisms, Brotherly Angst, Canonical Character Death, Death, Fair warning that Rodrigue is dead in this, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Survivor Guilt, Written in his younger brother's point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixfraldarius/pseuds/felixfraldarius
Summary: A messenger breaks the news to Rodrigue's younger brother of his death at Gronder Field.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	pictures of home

**Author's Note:**

> "my uncle gave me some of my father’s belongings. weapons, books…”
> 
> this entire fanfiction is based off of this one dialogue of felix's, which takes place between him and byleth after rodrigue's death. 
> 
> ... it also features the character i've made up for rodrigue's brother! since he doesn't have a name in canon, i call him florimond. he's an interesting guy and i write about him often, but i've never made a _proper fanfiction _for a character that's as insignificant as him. i hope you all enjoy! positive feedback would be especially appreciated!__
> 
> [fic namesake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlpAEVaSCSg)

Florimond is in the middle of training at home – House Fraldarius, where he resides with his brother and the rest of his family – when a messenger approaches him, looking frantic. They’re holding a closed box in their shaky hands and seem to be half panicking. He stills the wooden lance he was using against the training dummies and turns to face them. Used to receiving both good and bad news, especially by letter, he can’t help but be morbidly curious as to what the problem could be. It’s rare that the messenger has a physical reaction to whatever unpleasant situation they have been sent to deliver, and this distressed person is very clearly hesitant to share with him the verbal message and contents of the box. 

”S-Sir Florimond. I-I come bearing bad news.” That much is obvious. He pushes away from his face few wavy strands of dark blue hair that slipped out of the braid he ties it in before leaning in to get a good look at the box. It’s a simple wooden one that doesn’t betray its contents whatsoever. 

”What’s the matter?” 

”It’s about your brother.” 

His heart immediately sinks. Rodrigue is an incredibly strong knight, but he is only human like the rest and accidents happen. Florimond has seen him seriously injured a few times before, though each time doesn’t get easier than the last. As the younger sibling, five years to be exact, it was terrifying when he was little and his older brother would come home hurt from fighting or training. He remembers spending many days at his bedside bringing him whatever he needed at the time. 

”Go on.” He holds his breath and waits for the messenger to continue. 

They stand there frozen for several seconds, and it’s clear that they’re agonising over how to deliver the next lines. His heart sinks even further in his chest, now clear that something is seriously wrong. When the messenger finally speaks up, their voice is tiny and shaky. As they speak, they open the box with very hesitant hands. 

“He was killed earlier. He died protecting his highness Dimitri. I… Have brought the clothing he was wea-” 

Florimond doesn’t let them finish, yanking his brother’s cape out of the box with a level of violence that someone who is simply sent to pass words on certainly doesn’t deserve. They look startled and back off, placing the box by his feet – for the best, as Florimond can feel deep, resentful rage brewing in the pit of his stomach. A noble Fraldarius should not act this way, but he knows Rodrigue kept the same intense anger inside of him as well. It’s only natural that it creeps out upon hearing of his killing. He knows the grief will hit him hard later, but it’s all so easy to fall into resentment. 

Deep resentment, that’s what it is. Resentment that he sees in Rodrigue’s surviving son against the chivalry that got Glenn killed. Florimond knows that his brother lived to serve the Blaiddyd family – mainly Lambert, but after his passing, of course the other Fraldarius moved on to follow Dimitri – and yet it does nothing but make him horrifically _pissed off_ , to put it lightly. 

Florimond is convinced that every Fraldarius hosts some brand of deep anger. Rodrigue hid his well between kind words and a joking manner, but his brother has seen him blind with rage many a time. Felix’s anger is as raw and bitter as ever and has been since Glenn died. Glenn was a knight with steadfast loyalty but would still lose himself training into the early hours. It’s not in their family to properly deal with emotions. 

He turns around and decimates a mannequin with a quick reason spell. The messenger, previously standing a ways away from him whilst frozen in fear, quickly flees once pieces of broken wood fly into the air, leaving Florimond alone with his feelings. Every one of them, swirling deep inside of his chest, is heavy and painful, none pleasant. 

As a young boy, Florimond would listen to Rodrigue tell him bedtime stories about knights, chivalry, the duties of the Fraldarius family, of Loog and Kyphon, their legacy, and the history of the Kingdom. Many different tales that were all rooted deep in the value Faerghus places on knighthood lulled him to sleep. When turned upon him, however, he feels completely different – while previously thinking of Felix as a misguided and upset young man, he now understands exactly how he feels. It’s a raw, unique pain to have one’s familial second half ripped away before their time should have been. It’s especially so when it could have been prevented, and yet the belief that jumping in front of a blade for someone else is the honourable thing to do runs as rampant as ever. 

A couple more spells satisfy Florimond’s anger for the time being, replaced with exhaustion that creeps into his sad and tired bones. His hands are already scarred from his reason magic, but the skin on them burns with the same intensity as his earlier rage and there’s no doubt he added more injury to them. Dejectedly, he turns to look at the cape draped over his arm. He can barely look, the tears and the blood staining its teal material feeling like a stab in the heart with each glance over them. 

Part of Florimond wishes it was himself who died over his brother. Rodrigue was always meant to be the better of the two – born with a minor Crest of Fraldarius, a devotion to the Blaiddyd family, and a talent for faith magic, he was the perfect warrior who would go on to earn the name ‘Shield of Faerghus’. Florimond was always the opposite, a Crestless younger brother that was only able to become a Dark Knight with extensive training and would never serve a Blaiddyd. His view of chivalry was always rather weak, as well. He was not fit to be a Fraldarius, and the Goddess should have taken him. Rodrigue deserved life, more than anything. There was so much good left for him to do. 

His hands shake slightly as he holds his brother’s tattered cape up. It’s a beautiful one, and he has always admired it. Its design has been passed down forever, with each heir being gifted a brand-new cape of the same blue material with the same light fluff around the edges (along with the Fraldarius Crest on the clasp). Rodrigue didn’t even get the chance to commission a new one for Felix. Something about that breaks Florimond’s heart further. 

The second piece of clothing brought to Florimond is Rodrigue’s robe. There’s a hole torn in the middle of it that showcases how he got killed, a relatively small stab wound. The area around the hole is soaked in blood and the sleeves are stained with smudged droplets. 

Before his departure to seek out Dimitri, Rodrigue had left all important matters in Fraldarius to Florimond himself. He finds himself cursing the decision, wishing he was there to aid his brother in battle (or take his place). Had the situation arose, however, part of him knows that he would be sent away with an “It’s my duty, dear brother, not yours” anyway. 

Florimond doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he sees tears darkening Rodrigue’s clothing. At this point, the pain that hangs heavy in his chest is unbearable, and he kneels down to fold the cape and robe over his knee. It’s hard with how shaky his hands are, but he manages a messy fold of the two of them. Hesitantly, he opens the wooden box that the messenger had placed on the ground and moves to slide the clothes inside. As he does so, he gets a glimpse of an even worse sight: his brother’s gloves. One of them is less bloody than the other, previously white but darkened on the palm with red blood. It paints a picture of Rodrigue’s last moments, one hand pressed on the stab wound as he bleeds out and another likely raised, perhaps in a final spell or to touch the cheek of someone as he says his goodbyes. Florimond imagines his brother’s blue eyes, the same blue as he himself has, losing their glow in front of him as his life slips away. It makes him shiver. 

Florimond bites back a sob at such horrifying thoughts and shoves the clothing on top of the gloves. It’s too much, all too much. The guilt, fear, anger, resentment, and grief, to name a few, are overwhelming. His heart feels like it’s going to burst under the weight of everything. 

He hopes he can see his brother’s body soon. They’ll throw him a traditional funeral with a proper and honourable burial. Little does he know the man has already been unceremoniously buried and will have to be removed to be taken home at a later date. 

For now, Florimond needs to prepare to gather his brother’s belongings. He’ll take a trip to Garreg Mach in the coming days to pass some of Rodrigue’s belongings down to Felix. He knows of some books, clothing, and weapons that Rodrigue held dear to him that would go well in the young Fraldarius’s hands. He’ll even commission a new Crest cape for the boy and get Rodrigue’s repaired to hang up somewhere in memory of him. 

With a deep, broken-hearted sigh, Florimond gets up, holding the wooden box containing what’s left of his brother, and heads off to his room. He’ll have to steel himself for the rush of memories that will come back to him upon looking at each and every object, but they’re in the middle of a war, and there’s no time to waste. Battle doesn’t wait for anyone to stop grieving, and certainly won’t halt itself for Florimond Paladin Fraldarius.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/meloghia)


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